


The Price of Justice

by Judith Proctor (Watervole)



Series: Justice [2]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:04:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4733741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watervole/pseuds/Judith%20Proctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is compelling evidence that Avon collaborated with the Federation. Blake finds himself being backed into an impossible corner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Justice

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time.
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).
> 
>    
>  **Original Author's Notes:**
> 
> This story should not be confused with 'The Price of Justice' by Ermentrude Postlethwaite-Smythe.
> 
> Previously published in 'Gambit 13'.

They walked slowly down the corridor, Blake adjusting himself to Avon's pace. Mobile, Avon might be, but it was easy to see that he was favouring his left leg. A legacy from the Federation's torturers? He wondered about that - the best operators prided themselves on never leaving a visible mark on their victims: they claimed they could produce a subject in court with no evidence of anything untoward ever having happened to them. There were doubtless many members of the Federation legal system who honestly believed that claims by prisoners of torture and brain-washing were rebel propaganda and nothing more. It was hard to remember sometimes, that although the system was corrupt, there were still good men and women present within it.

      So what had happened to Avon? Had he injured himself falling out of the flyer? Blake's philosophy was: when in doubt, ask. So he asked.

      "What happened to your leg?"

      Avon glanced down. "Gauda Prime. A gunshot smashed the kneecap; they didn't fix it properly."

      "That wasn't on the tape."

      Avon sounded tired. "There's a lot of things that weren't on the tape."

      That was something Blake would have to find out about later. There was so much for them both to catch up on.

      As they entered the power hall, the murmur of conversation died down. Eyes turned automatically to lock on Blake with Avon at his side. Taking advantage of the attention, Blake took a step forward and spoke loudly.

      "The trial is over. I'm dropping all charges."

      He should have known it wouldn't be that simple. His followers had expected a blood offering and now it was being denied them.

      Surrounded by a buzz of angry voices, one of them leapt to his feet and pointed an accusing finger.

      "Just like that?" Hendrix demanded angrily. "We spent a month planing this. We invested more of our resources than we could afford. Some of us risked our necks. And for what? So that you could say it wasn't necessary after all!"

      Others rose, clamouring to be heard, words lost in the rising hubbub. Blake strode to the centre of the hall and shouted for silence, his voice rebounding over the arguments. He stood and waited while the volume slowly dropped. Once silence returned, he cast his eyes slowly over the audience.

      "This is a democracy," he said. "You can all have your say. We will follow the usual procedures."

      He was aware of a sideways look from Avon, but had no time to deal with that right now. He gestured Avon to a chair and pointed to one of the many raised hands.

      The man who took the floor was obviously angry, his hands clenched into fists. But before addressing everyone, he took a moment to relax, and when he spoke, his voice was taut, but reasonable. "One of our aims in carrying out this operation was to show that the rebellion can enforce its own justice. To take a Federation collaborator from within their own security and execute him ourselves, is to show that we can reach wherever we need to, to show that we are not powerless and to convey a warning to any who think of betraying us in the future."

      Blake nodded; it was a fair enough point. Looking for another speaker, he automatically selected a woman at the front to speak next - Helena could usually be guaranteed to put forward the humanitarian viewpoint in any discussion. True to form, she didn't let him down now.

      "We determined to execute a traitor if he was found guilty. If Avon is innocent, would you have him killed merely to gain publicity?"

      "Innocent, my foot!" yelled a voice from the back. "You saw that tape!"

      "Wait your turn!" Blake snapped.

      The mood of the group was balanced on a knife-edge. They were good men and women all, but the strain of living so close to death every day could easily dull the value placed on human life. Given a possible target to use in retaliation for their own sufferings and losses, they were only too likely to take it.

      He gestured at Shona, who was still sitting at the table assigned to the defence. Strong-willed and capable, he could rely on her at least to argue from logic rather than sentiment.

      She gave him a sideways look, as if to imply that he wasn't going to like what she had to say, then stood. There was silence. Shona was widely acknowledged as his second-in-command: whatever she had to say would be listened to with respect.

      "Blake." She spoke firmly, with authority in her voice. "A few hours ago, you said to us that we must not become like the Federation. We must not kill needlessly, but neither must we abandon the principles that we live by. Justice must not only be done, it must be seen to be done. If we release Kerr Avon without a trial, then we are acting on the whim of one man - yourself. In doing that, we would be falling back on the autocracy of the Federation rather than promoting the rules by which we wish to live. The Federation High Council, once a free body, now exists only to rubber stamp the decisions of the President. If we wish a fair and honest legal system, then we must be prepared to continue with this trial and reach a decision on the basis of the evidence, not on the judgement of any one individual."

      She had a very good point. Under any other circumstance Blake would have agreed with her. The catch was that all he had to go on here was his own inward conviction that Avon hadn't intended to kill him. Would that be enough to sway the trial in the direction he wanted it to go?

      "That's a very fair argument," he acknowledged. "But surely, as the man bringing the original charge, I'm the one who has the right to drop it?"

      Shona shook her head. "The mere fact that we all contributed something to the project means that the charge could be considered to be levelled by all of us acting as a community. Besides, Roj had other friends here. They also have the right to press for prosecution."

      He was trapped. There was no chance that he could browbeat all thirty of them into accepting his will. He'd taught them to stand up for their rights. If they had taken his teaching to heart, then rationally that had to be considered a success, not a failure. He'd just have to shift his ground and fight from a different angle. He held up his hands to end the discussion. "I accept your point and I will abide by the judgement of this court. However, I am no longer willing to act as prosecutor. I request that I be allowed to speak in the prisoner's defence."

      "Those in favour?" Shona asked.

      Blake mentally counted hands as they went up, but it was an easy result in his favour. They were all his friends after all. They might have misgivings, but would allow him to act as long as he stuck by the rules.

      He would have liked to ask Shona to prosecute, but given that she had been studying the defence only an hour ago, it seemed unlikely that the others would accept her. "Who will speak for the prosecution?" he demanded.

      Three hands promptly went up.

      "You choose one," Blake said to Shona. He felt incapable of making such a choice himself: the consequences were too great. He took his seat at the defence table and watched while she allowed the three to debate among themselves for a few minutes, before finally forcing them to make a choice - Hendrix. Blake couldn't decide how he felt about that. He'd known Hendrix for a year and a half. There wasn't another man that he'd rather have at his back in a fight. The pilot was a skilled man, loyal and fanatic. Almost too fanatic perhaps. Blake could recognise the symptoms, he'd been there himself - back in that time when destroying Star One had seemed the most important thing in the universe. The aliens had done him a favour in some ways: they'd reminded him that his first duty was always to humanity and not to the rebellion. When he'd first started fighting, that had been so obvious that he'd never even stopped to think about it. Then, as the Federation seemed more and more corrupt, and his own legend began to take him over, he'd become driven by the legend, forced to prove to himself that he could do the ultimate and topple the entire system.

      Now, he was content to settle for less: raids on indoctrination centres, attacks on munitions factories, sabotage in the systems that introduced suppressents into the water supply. It was slower, and less spectacular, but it was having an effect. He was in touch with groups on other worlds who were making similar efforts, but campaigns on the frontier worlds were being bedeviled by the effects of pylene 50.

      Hendrix strode confidently to take his seat opposite Blake. That confidence was unsettling - it indicated a man with no doubts. Black and white were such simple colours to deal with, but life didn't exist in black and white, it existed in shades of grey, and never more so that when Avon was involved. To Avon, the law only existed to be ignored, he simply didn't feel himself bound by the concerns of others. If he wanted something, he would lie, cheat or steal to obtain it. And yet Blake counted Avon as an honest man. If he said he'd do something, then he did it.

      Avon faced his accusers with an expression of bored indifference. He found it mildly amusing watching Blake being backed into a corner by his own philosophies. Principles could be a severe handicap in life; he was rather glad that he hadn't got any. He felt oddly uninvolved with everything that was going on around him. His life was supposed to be on the line, but after the last two months he wasn't particularly bothered whether he lived or not. Death struck him on the whole as a rather peaceful option. There was admittedly the prospect of a future life working with Blake - a life that would in all probability be nasty, brutish and short. Still, it _was_ good to see Blake again, to know that at least one of his friends had survived the Federation's carnage. Blake was irritating, idealistic to the point of stupidity, and Avon had missed him like hell. No one else had ever got under his skin in quite the same way. Blake was an itch that you simply couldn't stop scratching.

      He watched idly as Hendrix jotted down a few notes on a sheet of paper. Any sane man would have used a datapad. Admittedly, paper had its uses, but Avon considered it inferior on principle. Nobody seemed overly impatient about waiting for Hendrix; proceedings here were obviously pretty relaxed.

      Jottings completed, Hendrix rose to address the audience. His manner became curiously formal, as though he had watched numerous courtroom dramas on the vid and felt it incumbent on him to play the part properly.

      "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "we are here to consider the case against Kerr Avon, namely that he conspired with the Federation to betray his comrades and murdered Roj Blake believing him to be -" Hendrix stumbled for a moment and then resumed. "Believing him to be the Roj Blake with whom he had served upon the _Liberator_."

       _Served indeed!_ Avon thought. Someone had a curious idea as to the true state of affairs upon _Liberator_. Then again, thinking about it, hadn't Blake always got his own way in the end?

      Hendrix continued, "I have clear evidence to show that the accused was working with the Federation and that his action on Gauda Prime was merely the completion of a long running scheme to destroy the rebellion."

      "State your evidence."

      Blake's voice was just a shade too tense, which led Avon to suspect that not only had he heard this evidence before, he had also helped to put it together.

      "About six months ago," Hendrix said, "one of our members with access to Federation records discovered a report written by a Major Grenlee at the time of a major rebel coup against Residence One. He was shot and wounded by the rebels, but managed to survive. While attempting to hide, he was found by two men. In his confused state, he took them for Federation officers and when they asked him to help them find the President, he agreed. Servalan was being held in the cellar. Grenlee passed out once they had entered the cellar, but before losing consciousness, he heard one of the men address his companion as 'Avon'. Servalan later escaped unharmed, and Sula, the woman leading the coup, died in that same cellar.

      "If it were not for future events, there would be no reason to link the 'Avon' in that cellar with the man here today. However, just a few months after this failed coup, at the time of the Teal-Vandor war, Avon - this time clearly identified, was seen to visit Servalan in her quarters on Teal and was not seen to leave. The implication is obvious. They were working together, and it was in fact Avon who rescued Servalan on Earth after she called on him for help."

      "Objection." Blake sounded tired as though he felt he had to make the point, but already anticipated the answer. "If she requested his help on Earth, they must previously have contacted each other and worked out a way of exchanging messages."

      "Certainly," Hendrix answered without hesitating, "at the time of the Andromedan War."

      "No. I was there. Avon might have been in command of _Liberator_ during the fighting, but the rest of the crew were present on the flight deck. There's no way he could have sent a message to Servalan without the rest of them knowing."

      "No?"

      Hendrix addressed Avon directly for the first time. "I put it to you that during the fighting you began to see the advantages of working with the Federation instead of against it. You had command of the _Liberator_ while Blake was injured and you discovered that you liked it. You contacted Servalan via a coded message, then you ensured that Blake was given a teleport bracelet with faulty circuits so that he would be unable to rejoin the ship."

      Blake interrupted. "Avon didn't give me the bracelet."

      "But the bracelet was faulty?"

      "Yes. The locator circuit went first, then the voice channels. I didn't have the tools to repair it."

      "Is it possible that he could have placed several faulty bracelets in the rack in the hope that you would take one?"

      "Yes, but I don't believe that he did so."

      "You believed it a week ago."

      Blake didn't dare look at Avon, then found that he had to. Dark and compelling, Avon's gaze pinned him down as securely as a butterfly in one of Sarkoff's display cases. Blake glared at him, stung by Avon's silent accusation. What had he been supposed to think? He'd believed implicitly in Avon for over two years, ignored reports of _Liberator's_ loss and Cally's death as being simple misfortune. He'd even discounted reports that Avon was responsible for a war between the frontier warlords. He'd trusted. And then Roj's death had blown everything sky high. Couldn't Avon accept that he'd changed his mind once more? That was the trouble with Avon, he wasn't the forgiving kind.

      "I don't believe it now," he said firmly, and was rewarded by Avon's slight blink of surprise.

      Hendrix leapt to the attack. "On what grounds?"

      "On my own personal judgement of the man I knew for over two years."

      "But that same judgement also led you to doubt him."

      Because with Avon absent, it had been too easy to remember the arguments; the bitter disagreements over where they should go and what they should do; and the endless barrage of back-biting criticism. With Avon present, he could remember the other times, the shared jokes, the easy comradeship and the silent support in times of crisis. The ties that bound them might be invisible, but they existed none the less.

      "I was wrong." But even as he said it, Blake knew that he still had doubts. There were too many things unexplained.

      "Avon," he asked, "did you meet Servalan on Earth?"

      "No." Avon twisted a non-existent ring on his finger, probably unaware he was doing it, and then smiled at Blake. "But I did meet her on Sarran."

      There were a couple of gasps from the audience. Blake ignored them. This was Avon, and therefore this wasn't a confession, it was something that he felt he could turn to his advantage.

      "Why?" Blake asked bluntly.

      Avon's smile become positively angelic, which as Blake well knew, usually meant that he was preparing for a whopper. "It was during the war. Our life capsules crash-landed on Sarran. Dayna rescued us both from hostile natives."

      "The Dayna who later joined you?"

      "Yes. Servalan repaid her kindness by murdering her father, Hal Mellanby. Dayna and I were lucky to escape with our lives."

      "Hal Mellanby!" Blake couldn't quite keep the surprise out of his voice. If that was the point Avon had been angling for, then he had to admit it was a good one. "I remember him. He was quite a hero of mine when I was young. You're saying that _he_ was Dayna's father."

      Avon nodded, totally serious now. "She swore vengeance on Servalan for his death. If I was working with Servalan, do you really think I would have taken on a crew member with a blood-oath against her?"

      Hendrix pointed an accusing finger. "Then why did you meet with her on Teal?"

      "Curiosity."

      Blake could see a faint trace of amusement in Avon's face, and wondered what it signified.

      "Curiosity!" Hendrix demanded incredulously.

      "Why not?" Avon shrugged slightly. "There was always the chance she'd tell me something useful."

      Why not, indeed. It sounded like Avon. He treated life as a game on occasion, an intriguing puzzle to be solved. It could be easily be true; it could just as easily be a total fabrication. There was absolutely no way of telling, all they had to go on was what Avon said.

      Hendrix obviously didn't believe it at all. Pacing up and down in front of Avon, he tossed rapid-fire questions, barely waiting for a response before throwing the next one.

      "What was your relationship with Servalan?"

      "On what other occasions did you meet her?"

      "How much did she pay you?"

      Avon was coping with the questions, but at the same time, he was visibly flagging, the earlier confidence and humour beginning to fade. The reaction of a guilty man? Or simply that of a man who had already faced too many interrogation sessions? About to demand a halt, Blake was caught short by Hendrix's next question.

      "Who was your Federation contact after Servalan died?"

      But Servalan wasn't dead, Avon had told him that. And if she had lived after Gedden, and Avon knew, why hadn't he reported this to the Federation? What possible reason could Avon have had for allowing Servalan to live, apart from some sort of alliance with her?

      Avon's eyes flashed at him. Back me up, they said. Back me, or I'm a dead man.

      How could Avon ask that of him? What had Avon done that he didn't know about? Had Avon been lying to him all along?

      Avon was speaking, but to Blake, not to Hendrix. "I had _no_ Federation contact."

      Against his will, Blake believed that. But Avon had to be telling only part of the truth. What was the rest of it? What reason had he had for letting Servalan live? Surely, the only possible reason for him sparing her was some kind of alliance? Blake's head ached. An hour ago, he had thought that everything between himself and Avon could be resolved; now there was an ever growing tangle of mistrust and suspicion in his mind. He had too many questions that he wanted to ask, but was afraid to voice them. There might be answers. There might even be answers that would satisfy him; but would they be answers that the others would accept, or simply material to tighten the noose around Avon's neck? He knew from the look in Avon's eyes, that Avon believed the answers would kill him.

      If he kept silent about Servalan, was he protecting Avon or betraying the people here? Even as he debated inwardly, the questions kept coming.

      "Why did Betafarl, Tarl and Hirriel go to war almost immediately after entering into negotiations with you?" Hendrix demanded. "How much did the Federation pay you to kill Roj Blake?"

      "Stop!" Blake cried.

      Caught by surprise, Hendrix faltered. "What? He's virtually ready to confess!"

      "You mean browbeaten into saying whatever you want! The Federation had him for nearly two months - do you think he's in any state to stand repeated questioning?"

      "And how else," Hendrix demanded, "are we supposed to get the information out of him?"

      "You're presupposing that he's guilty."

      "Blake," Hendrix said with forced patience, "we already _know_ he's guilty. By his own admission, he shot Roj."

      "Then shut up, forget about conspiracy theories, and let me try and explain why."

      Hendrix waved a hand with exaggerated politeness. "Be my guest."

      Having centre stage, Blake hesitated, nerves jumping. The things Avon had told him sounded so much more feeble out here in the open hall with everyone listening. Still, he had undertaken to speak in defence. He had to do the best that he could.

      "Avon came to Gauda Prime looking for me. Not to shoot me, but because he believed he needed me to help with the work he was doing. When his ship crash landed, he was separated from one of his followers, a man named Tarrant. When he met Tarrant again in the tracking gallery, Tarrant said that I'd sold them all out."

      "Why should Tarrant have thought that?"

      "I can only presume that Roj used the bounty hunter routine on him, and that Tarrant escaped before he came to know the true state of affairs."

      "What evidence do you have for this?"

      Blake glanced at Avon, who reluctantly answered, "The relevant sections have been edited out of the tape."

      "Or were never there in the first place," Hendrix said cuttingly.

      Blake resumed, fighting a growing sense of futility. "Avon believed Roj intended to sell him for the bounty. He thought he'd been betrayed. Thus, he shot him."

      Hendrix leaned forward to make his key point. It wasn't vindictiveness that drove him, but a passion that Blake recognised as akin to his own nature.

      " _Roj was unarmed!_ "

      There was nothing left for Blake to say, nothing that he could say. Every single piece of evidence pointed to Avon's guilt. There was only one thing left for him to do: appeal for clemency. To appeal with all the sincerity that he could muster.

      "I accept Avon's guilt. It is beyond dispute that he killed the man whom I regarded as my brother. It falls to all of you here to decide on his sentence.

      "Remember the things that Avon did for the rebellion: the times he risked his own life, the times he saved mine. I owe him a debt that I can never repay. We all owe him a debt! Remember the Andromedan War? It was Avon in command of _Liberator_ who held the aliens at bay until the Federation fleet arrived. Without him, humanity's losses would have been twice as great."

      It was no use; he knew what he wanted to say, the words were there, but he couldn't inject them with the necessary fervour, couldn't convey them in the way that they ought to be said.

      "I've forgiven Avon for what happened on Gauda Prime. I honestly believe that he didn't intend murder. I ask you to forgive him also."

      He sat down abruptly, conscious of the sweat on his palms. Words. Mere empty words. They weren't going to work, because he was no longer sure that he believed them himself.

      Hendrix was calling for a vote. Blake listened, only half taking in the words, watching the hands as they went up and down. On the charge of conspiracy, guilty, but not a sufficient vote for death. On the charge of murder, guilty, with an overwhelming majority for the death sentence.

      He couldn't look at Avon. He'd started this, and now he had to finish it. His own duty was clear - no matter how much he wanted to avoid it. Blake rose to his feet, trying to control a lurching sensation inside him.

      "As leader of this community, I accept the verdict of the community. As leader of this community, mine is the responsibility to carry out the sentence."

      He was glad that he had his back to Avon. He didn't want to see his friend's face.

      He felt at his hip, but he'd taken his gun off earlier. He reached out a hand, and a woman on the front row held up a weapon, sympathy evident on her face. She'd been one of the very few who had voted against death. But even she had deemed Avon to be guilty of murder.

      Now he had to turn and face Avon. There was no other course for him to take. Yesterday, killing a man in cold blood had seemed difficult, but justified. Today, it was even more difficult. Was the act he was about to perform justice or simply vengeance?

      Slowly, he turned.

      Avon stood stock still, waiting for him, eyes the only things living in his frozen face.

      Can you understand, Avon, he wanted to say. I have to do this, to preserve what I believe in. If I don't enact the decision of the people, then this group falls apart, everything that I have achieved here falls apart. I have to live by the rules that I helped to create.

      The gun was a dead weight in his hands, yet it seemed to rise almost of its own volition.

      "Traitor!" shouted a voice from behind him. "Murderer!"

      Yes! said a voice inside him. You know Avon lied. You know he was holding back the truth. He betrayed your trust. He killed Roj.

      He fired, and saw the stunned shock on Avon's face, the eyes that couldn't quite believe.

      He took a step closer, and saw more, too much more. Blake would never be able to describe what he saw in Avon's eyes, but he knew, knew the horror that Avon had felt as Roj died. Knew as Avon had known that there had been no betrayal, only a chain of tragedy.

      Knew too late.

 


End file.
